


Save Yourself

by IcyDeath



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF!John, Greg deals with a worried John, John gets angry at Sherlock at some point, John knowing all sorts of things to get out of a kidnapping situation, John punches Sherlock at some point, Kidnapping, Mycroft worries about Sherlock, Nobody envies the last batch of kidnappers, Sherlock and his weird habit of apologizing, Sherlock might be tortured at some point, There's a reason why John wears jumpers, accidentally, kidnapper girlfriend, only a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyDeath/pseuds/IcyDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times John was kidnapped, thinking he was the weak link of the pair, and one time they were smart enough to kidnap Sherlock before they realized it was better if they kidnapped John after all.</p><p>Having a brother that occupied a <i>minor</i> position in the British government and bad-ass kicking soldier for a best friend did that to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five times

i.

He was the short, stocky one, wearing the warm over-sized jumpers with a kind yet slightly awkward smile as he followed the tall, brooding intimidating figure of one consulting detective, who, no doubt, knew one or two self-defense tactics.

Their sources tell them that the short one had a limp once and was successfully kidnapped by an underground Chinese mafia effective in stopping Sherlock Holmes, until said detective was smart enough to outwit them completely once he arrived.

He was also a doctor, had blue eyes and light blonde hair, graying in some areas, who helped anyone in need and was easily fooled into any mysterious black car with a beautiful, texting girl in it. (By God, was this man some sort of patient and helpless angel sent for all kidnappers and enemies of Sherlock Holmes so that they could teach the annoying guy a lesson?)

Good old doctor Watson. God bless this merry and easily kidnapped human being.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Speak of the devil. Barely two minutes into their plan and the good old doctor was already running to them in worry, blue eyes alight with concern as he spied the man leaning against the wall _seemingly_ out of breath.

They almost felt bad for him. _Almost_.

But really, this was _too easy_.

"He says he's got asthma," Ugh, acting worried sucks, but this guy had to be fooled enough to let his guard down. They were by the alley near St. Barts when the old doctor came out for a walk to stretch out his legs, right on schedule. They made sure they were in his line of sight when they started the charade. "Our mum's in A&E and we had to run here cause we ain't got money for a cab." Like hell they don't.

"That's horrible," The good old doctor pursed his lips in worry. "Still you shouldn't have done that, might've triggered his asthma because of your running. Best let me examine you back in my office."

"But our mum-!"

"I'm sure you'd mum would want you to be checked out first too, before going to visit her." Blue eyes got wistful and the man smiled gratefully as he signaled to a passerby behind the doctor.

"Thank you really, Dr. Watson, but there's no need."

Blue eyes blinked in surprise as the doctor opened his mouth, "Wait, how did you-?"

SLAM!

Really, _too easy_.

The first thing the doctor did when he came to was heave a great a sigh.

"Really, again?" John Watson grumbled as he tugged at his ropes and gave them all an unimpressed look. The gall of him when _he_ was the one tied to the chair, bleeding slightly on the head and his clothes wrinkled and messed up from being dragged on the floor. It almost didn't seem to bother him.

Huh.

"You make it sound like you're always getting' kidnapped, doctor." The guy who had been pretending to have an asthma drawled as he puffed out a good smoke. The doctor hardly flinched when he blew it towards him.

"Smoking won't help your lungs." John said in a professional tone, as though he was still in the clinic and not tied up somewhere with no help.

Another guy laughed at that tone, "Honestly, don't you know the term _acting_ , doctor? Your buddy seems to be acting all the time, you'd think you'd recognized when you were being lied to."

"I persistently like to think that humanity hasn't lost hope on being good yet. Being pessimistic and always commenting on other's stupidity is Sherlock's job." The doctor said in an apologetic tone.

At those words, the guy smoking dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, growling. "Careful doctor, if we didn't knew any better, you seem to be implying that we're doing something stupid."

"Yes, yes you are." John said and then after a thoughtful pause he added, "And you mean ' _know_ any better', by the way. Don't let Sherlock hear you speak that way. That guy's obsessed with grammar."

The man who hit John earlier, clear by the gun he held in his hand which had a little blood stain on it, snorted. "You think that freak of a detective will come and save your arse then? Lunatic the lot of you. Next time, you should be careful in picking your friends doctor or you'll end up kidnapped more times than you can breathe."

"He isn't a freak." John said almost automatically and he narrowed his eyes. The man froze, not knowing that he just caught sight of the soldier John Watson was, before he became the kind doctor who everyone wanted to kidnap for his association with Sherlock. "And he won't have time to save me."

"What? You think he doesn't care about you?" The man asked curiously.

"No, not that." John straightened as his eyes flashed and he showed them a feral grin that made them all freeze. "Cause I'll be saving myself, thanks."

The guy with the gun aimed at the doctor and had just enough time to say "Wha-" when all of a sudden, the doctor was free, binds on the floor, expertly cut to pieces, as he ran towards the man with the gun, ducking down in time just as he shot.

The force of the gun shot was enough to stun the shooter for a few seconds while John kicked him on the shins, causing him to stumble back and drop his only weapon. The ex-military soldier grabbed at it, knocked him out and turned just in time, as the man holding the cigarette earlier, grabbed at a crowbar to hit him.

John swiped at the weapon with his gun before twisting his body slightly to dig his elbow on the other's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The other fell to the floor, writhing, his hand on his painful stomach as he gasped and John Watson turned to the last man who had lied to him about his mum being in the A&E.

"So," John said using his friendly smile that caught many off guard, "Wanna have a go?"

The remaining man promptly peed his pants.

* * *

"Five minutes." Sherlock said, half an hour later when the police surrounded the abandoned warehouse, unsurprised at the scene that greeted them. Two unconscious men, one shivering in fright with a suspicious liquid surrounding him, and one John Watson, leisurely sitting on a chair with the ropes around his feet as he texted Sarah about extending his break and demanding Sherlock to buy him Chinese because he owed him one. "You broke the record again."

"They weren't good kidnappers. Underestimated me, seeing as there were only three of them." John shrugged modestly as a paramedic placed a shock blanket on his shoulders after wrapping his head in bandages. He gave them a nod and an awkward smile. The guy who peed on himself needed it more than him.

Sherlock nodded, one sharp bob of his head. "All right, then?"

"'Course I'm alright. Ex-military soldier here. I can hold my ground." John said as he glanced up at his companion and saw that one of his cheeks had a long shallow scar, still bleeding. "Bloody- what the hell happened to you?"

Blue-gray eyes blinked as Sherlock raised a hand and placed it on his cheek before flinching just a bit. "Oh yes," The detective cleared his throat. "Well, naturally, I received a text from Sarah about how you didn't come back from your break and figured you might've been kidnapped _again_ ," And the young Holmes rolled his eyes as though it wasn't John's relation with him that got him kidnapped in the first place. "And as any good consulting detective would do, I found out where they were hiding you and came here."

John nodded and pointed out blatantly, "And you got hit."

Sherlock huffed, "Just a scratch. I may have been _slightly_ wrong in my deduction about one of the men having a permanent limp."

"Not a limp?"

"No, his boots were new and uncomfortable to walk in. When he took them off, he became, unfortunately for me, more than able to pin me to the ground and knife me at the face." The detective shrugged.

"So you were _wrong_." John said with a smile.

"He had a limp before, a few years back. I wasn't wrong." Sherlock insistently stood his ground and the doctor gave him a fond grin.

"Nope, you were still wrong for making the deduction at the time." John said in a mocking tone that made the detective grit his teeth in annoyance. "But thank you, for coming after me, I mean. Although it got you injured."

An awkward expression flashed on Sherlock's face before he cleared his throat and smoothed out his expression. "No problem."

Neither spoke about the fact that the most probable reason Sherlock got his deduction wrong was because he had been too busy worrying about John as he fought.

* * *

ii.

"I would bite my arm off for a normal day." John muttered as he calmly shot at one of the men who had gone after one of the victims attempting to run free. He aimed at his ankle, away from any nerves so as not to cause any permanent damage. He may have been an ex-soldier, blood lust and all that, but he was a doctor first, and he didn't want anyone to feel the annoyance of having to limp all through their lives even _if_ they'll most likely end up in jail.

"All right?" John asked as he leaned towards the girl who nodded vigorously, eyes shining with tears and relief. But then her eyes widened and she choked as she opened her mouth in warning.

The soldier in him made him turn just as a man reached out towards him, saying "John-" before John punched him, hard.

The man staggered, eyes blinking in confusion and John was about to follow it up before he paused, recalling that the man had called his name in a familiar tone.

"Wait." John said, gun raised, as he pointed at the man wearing the same black uniform as the suspects who had kidnapped him and the other unfortunate souls in this place. "Who are you?" His blue eyes were narrowed in warning, a look he perfected in his army days.

The man seemed unruffled by the threat in his voice and instead he straightened himself in a dignified and familiar manner. "Honestly John, I didn't even think my disguise this time was this good, you really can't recognize me?"

And John froze before slowly lowering his gun. The change of stance of the supposed offender made John recognize the pompous git beneath the contacts, wig, and uniform. "Sherlock?"

"Finally." Sherlock rolled his brown eyes and John had the sense to punch him again just to get rid of the _are-you-an-idiot_ tone there. The detective rubbed at his hit cheek and flexed his jaw, effectively dropping the urge in John to punch him again.

"Oh God, sorry about that." John felt guilty. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not the one who got kidnapped, _again_." Sherlock sighed before he looked around, eyes calculating and darting. "You knocked them all out, well done. If the victims here aren't too terrified, they can testify that these goons have been kidnapping people with blonde hair and blue eyes for the past month."

"Wait, what?" John said as he glanced at the girl behind him and just realized that she indeed had the same hair color and blue eyes as him. Although more obvious. "Are you saying the reason I got kidnapped was because of my hair and eyes?"

"Do keep up, John." Sherlock said as he walked away to look at one of the boxes stashed away. "The man behind this has a disturbing obsession for blonde hair and blue eyes, whether man or female. Probably has something to do with the fact that his previous lover, who is now dead by the way, was blonde hair and blue eyes. Love is indeed a terrifying instigator of crimes, most of the interesting cases are a crime of passion."

"Right. Well, so how long have you been undercover here exactly?" John said, following after him, annoyed that Sherlock had been here the entire time and could have helped him as he was shoved to the side with other terrified people.

"A week. I've been working myself up the ranks for a week." The detective said and John thought back to the late nights Sherlock came home, looking excited and not at all wanting to divulge in the usual I'm-bored-let's-play-cluedo-the-victim-did-it mood he had been a few weeks prior.

"You've been helping the suspect kidnap people for _a week_?" John nearly yelled aloud.

Sherlock frowned. "No, of course not. I've been _helping_ people escape for a week. Unlike you, I thought it was rather stupid to yell attention to myself in the middle of armed men before proceeding to knock them all out in one go. Nice job getting out alive though."

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He had the urged to rub at his forehead but he still had a gun and he wasn't as careless as Sherlock with it. "So what? You saw me get kidnapped and didn't bother to help?"

At those words, Sherlock stopped his investigation but kept his back on John, "I didn't know you were kidnapped. I thought you'd be safe since I wasn't publicly announcing my involvement of this case. I just heard some of the guards talking about Sherlock Holmes' companion who had blonde hair and blue eyes and was getting kidnapped every other week and managed to put two and two together when I came here and saw you."

"Oh." John said as Sherlock shuffled away from him, going to look for other clues that could possibly condemn the suspects for a longer time in jail. "Well, thank you. Sorry about the punch to the face, again. Hope it doesn't sting."

"It's fine." Sherlock said as a distant sound of sirens came. "Scotland Yard."

"You called them, then?" John was ashamed that it hadn't crossed his mind as he was fighting to call for them. Then he was confused, "Wait, so you've caught the man behind this?"

"No. He probably escaped already." Sherlock said and there was a tint of regret in his voice. "But it's been a week, it's time for these people to be rescued. And it's time for us to go home and listen to Mrs. Hudson nag about the state we're in again."

"Yeah," The doctor nodded, thinking about their warm flat back in Baker street. He chanced a glance at the detective who was furiously checking for more clues before Anderson came in and mucked up the crime scene again. "You know, you'll catch him soon enough, I guarantee."

Sherlock gave a noncommittal grunt.

"You always catch them in the end." John said, trying to ease the other and Sherlock just gave him a sideway glance before nodding quietly and straightening just as the police came in.

It was only a few days later that Sherlock Holmes cornered a fleeing man by the docks. John stopped wearing contact lenses and a wig after that.

* * *

iii.

"You are an idiot, John Watson." A familiar, exasperated voice of one detective inspector said when John came to in the hospital. Blue eyes blinked in confusion as they stared at the white ceiling.

"What's happened?" John asked in a sleepy slur, his ears buzzing as he turned to look to his side, blinking rapidly.

"This is the third time this month and God help me, you being kidnapped isn't safe for London, not when you have Sherlock Holmes for a companion, mind you." Lestrade said with a frown towards the doctor. "I mean, I told you before, Sherlock's a _great_ man and I thought you'd be the one that'll finally make him a good one, but being found knocked unconscious in the middle of another warehouse with the suspects all out for the count around you- God knows what the bloody hell Sherlock's doing with them. And I guarantee it won't be a good one."

John gave a weak smile at his friend, "Nice to see you too, Greg." He said in a hoarse voice.

Greg sighed, "Next time we go to the pub, you're buying the drinks."

John winced. Great another hole in his wallet. He tried to sit up, sighing too as the inspector helped him. "Sorry about getting kidnapped again. So Sherlock's off interrogating the suspects?"

Greg scoffed, "Why would he interrogate them when he already knows whose behind it?

John shrugged.

The detective inspector rolled his eyes, "Obviously, to reduce them to small mindless puddles with his own deductions. It's his form of torture and I won't be shocked if in the next few minutes he has the mastermind locked up in jail for life."

Just as he said that, his phone rang and he gave a pointed look to John who just smiled. "Donovan?" He answered, got up, and excused himself.

A few minutes later, he came back in, looking more tired than before while John gave him an inquiring look.

"Got him- er, her. The suspect." He clarified when John gave him a confused look. "Sherlock managed to nab him-her!- after running off again. Donovan's been complaining to me, Sherlock's irritable and has been driving her up the walls. He'll be here in a moment or two. Then I'll leave you two be. I've got papers to sort out."

"Sorry for keeping you here." John said good-naturedly. "But I'm glad for the company though."

"Yeah, Sherlock told me you'd be." Greg said with a smile and John gave him a look.

"Sherlock said that?"

"Yeah, he also convinced me to look after you while he handled the case. Took me aside and everything." The detective inspector said carefully. "He said that he needed someone to look after you while you were unconscious and I was the best next thing. Wouldn't have agreed to it- I'm the _DI_ of Scotland Yard for Pete's sake, can't just go gallivanting off when I feel like it- but he said he trusted me and that you'd appreciate the company and friendly face.

"I-" John started, stunned but then he nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I do. Thanks."

"All in the day's work. Just try not to get yourself kidnapped again, alright?" Lestrade said with a nod just as the door opened and the familiar footsteps of a certain consulting detective interrupted them. Lestrade turned to nod at Sherlock who nodded at him in turn. "Well, that's my cue. Get well soon, John."

"Thanks Greg." John said as the inspector left, closing the door behind them. Sherlock stood awkwardly to the side of the bed, his eyes looking at the injuries John had, cataloguing them for future analysis.

"I'm fine." John said firmly when Sherlock began to open his mouth to inquire. "Will you just sit down and tell me what happened? Slowly by the way, because my head's pounding and I don't want to struggle with catching up."

Surprisingly, Sherlock nodded and sat down, beginning his story about the current case and how he tracked down the suspects' and John's location.

"Brilliant." The doctor said when Sherlock detailed to him about how he realized that the _victim_ the police were interrogating was actually the criminal despite the fact that they thought it was a man at first.

The smile of surprise that graced Sherlock's face made John smile back as he leaned against the headboard, getting comfortable.

He didn't mind getting kidnapped if they could get moments like this more often.

* * *

iv.

"You know, this is also a form of kidnapping, yeah?" John said to Mycroft the moment he came to at another mysterious place and saw the umbrella wielding elder Holmes. Honestly, the Holmeses were a tad bit too dramatic for him.

"Kidnapping you is easier than kidnapping my little brother, Dr. Watson. If you hadn't noticed, he has the habit of disappearing whenever I'm looking for him." Mycroft said as he leaned against his umbrella, sharp eyes watching John carefully.

"Right, so need me for something then?" John asked, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, well, my subordinates have informed me of your recent kidnappings and I am merely concerned. Should anything happen to you," Mycroft said seriously and John shuddered a bit at the look, "I cannot guarantee the safety of London, but most importantly I do not want a grieving Sherlock in my hands."

"And so, what?" John asked, "Are you asking me to stay immortal?"

"Why no, you'd be miserable if everyone except you is dying about." Mycroft said this airily as though John could really turn immortal at his whim. "No, I am merely extending to you the service of the British MI6. They will guard you and shadow your footsteps. Heaven knows they don't have enough people to stalk."

The good doctor let out a snort in amusement, "Yeah, thanks but no thanks. It's not like you don't already have someone guarding my movements. But thanks for asking anyway. I can take care of myself."

"Yes, you have proven that immensely in the past three kidnappings." John had no idea if Mycroft was doing sarcasm, his tone still of casualty. "I daresay, those people would pick up soon not to judge a book by its cover. And I wonder what would happen then, if they do?"

"They'll stop kidnapping me and work on becoming more of a challenge for Sherlock?" John shrugged and Mycroft pursed his lips in thought, still wistful.

"I do hope you're right." The elder Holmes said just as Anthea came back in, telling him about an important meeting. "Escort the doctor for me, my dear. I will be at the meeting shortly."

"Yes sir." Anthea said as she gave John a look and turned. The ex-military soldier followed, giving Mycroft a nod of farewell.

There was the distant sound of a car door slamming closed, as the British officer remained on his spot, thinking.

"And I do hope they don't turn towards a foolish idea." Mycroft thought of Sherlock running down the streets alone and invigorated at the thought of solving an exciting case. "A foolish idea indeed." He said to the empty room before him.

* * *

v.

"I told you she wasn't any good." Sherlock goaded at his only friend after John was recovered from _another_ kidnapping case. This time though, it was more out of John's foolishness for not heeding the warning the Detective had been giving him for the past week. "If you had observed the tan line on her finger, you would have noticed she had a wedding ring before and a very unhappy marriage at that. The fact that she took off the ring and didn't keep it for sentiment's sake means that _she_ left her husband! But then she likes romantic films and had morals about marriage- so _why would she do that?_ Obviously, because her husband was cheating on her-"

"Shut it, Sherlock." John said with a hiss as he ducked his head and tried to get a control of his anger. He didn't like being chastised about his relationship, _especially_ if the person he had been dating turned out to be an accomplice to his kidnappers.

Being kidnapped by your girlfriend and realizing that like every other _bloody_ kidnapper out there, she had done it because he was Sherlock's companion.

"I'm just saying, John," Sherlock said, unmindful, or rather, unknowing of the irritation bubbling within his companion. "She was a terrible, terrible choice. And I don't understand why you didn't see it from the start-"

"I'm thick then!" John finally shouted, making half of the Yarders pause at their investigation. Sally and Anderson, both of whom were sniggering at the thought that John was dim enough to get kidnapped by his own girlfriend, paused to watch in eager anticipation as the good and usually patient doctor berated his flat mate.

"John-"

"I liked her, Sherlock! Okay?" John shouted again, blue eyes narrowed as he glared at the detective who flinched. "I'm _sorry_ if I was too arse over elbow to realize that my girlfriend was a kidnapper to notice! Often, people who are in love don't _like_ thinking that the people they're dating are anything _but normal_!"

"I-" Sherlock began, looking for the first time, unsure of what to say, "Sentiment is-"

"I know! You're always saying it! Sentiment's on the losing side!" John raged as the detective took a step back. "But I'd rather be a loser every other time than be- be-" He gestured to the consulting detective wildly. "-a Sherlock! A Holmes or whatever! I'd rather have a heart, Sherlock!"

"Are you saying too," Sherlock said in a soft tone, and if John hadn't been angry, he'd have heard the 'too' and the implication behind the word. "-that I don't have one?"

 _I will_ burn _the_ heart _out of you._

_I have been reliably informed that I don't have one._

"You tell me." John said coldly as he turned and walked away, leaving the consulting detective by himself in a crowd of people who were different from John, but who most definitely agreed to what he said.

Sherlock turned away from them, walking off, his expression crestfallen.

* * *

_My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?_

_I don't know._

_That's funny, because neither do I._

* * *

_\+ one_

John hadn't talked to him for over a week. It seemed like, getting kidnapped four times this month (Sherlock didn't know about the Mycroft one) had finally grated on his nerves, along with the not-so-sensitive criticizing of his girlfriend, plus being kidnapped by said girlfriend, and add to that the cases popping in at random intervals and Sherlock's inhuman and insensitive deductions about the victims and their families.

John must hate him a lot now.

Sherlock wasn't used to having a quiet and angry John. He wasn't used to this churning feeling in his gut that was most likely guilt.

This is why he barely interacted and befriended _anyone_. People were changeable, unpredictable, and _illogical_ unlike his experiments. They were all nice and sweet one moment, and next they were out for your blood, murdering, vengeful, angry, or hurt.

Or angry _and_ hurt.

The consulting detective had tried to ignore this situation between them. He thought by doing this, the sooner he'd get to have the normal John back if he kept quiet long enough and tried not to irritate him much. But his state of quietness and ignorance of their fight seemed to have only agitated the quarry further and John was frequently out, trying to escape the annoyance that was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock worried that if he was out too much, he'd be kidnapped again. Getting kidnapped again would push John's saint like patience and next time, he might go as far as to move out of their flat. He did not like that idea.

And so, like any good, normal friend he decided to disguise himself and stalk the other man whenever he went out.

Sherlock really needed to work on his definition of 'normal'.

Friends also did not stalk friends in disguises.

_You should just apologize. MH_

And of course, Mycroft was there, sending him annoying messages, knowing what he was doing as always. It didn't escape the consulting detective's notice that the CCTV cameras always turned to him when he passed by.

_Your input is irrelevant. SH_

The young Holmes grumbled as he ducked to the nearest alley, _away_ from anymore CCTV cameras as his line of sight tried to keep up with the familiar mop of blonde hair, trudging towards the pub. No doubt another pub night with Lestrade, talking about something boring- like rugby.

And just because he was bored and because he really relished in shocking his older brother, Sherlock sent another message a few seconds after the first.

_It's not like I haven't tried that, I'm not an idiot, Mycroft. SH_

And he really did try. He watched telly and he knew what an apology looked like, how to say it, how to get the light of regret in his eyes. If he had to _act it out_ like how he acted out various emotions to several key people to help him with a case, so that he would seem _normal,_ he would.

But John didn't deserve a script-written apology tugged out of Sherlock's mask of indifference just for the sake of convenience. What John needed was a truly heartfelt apology that his flatmate was incapable of giving. An apology, John knew, the _heartless_ Sherlock Holmes could _never_ make.

And Sherlock was proving it to him, the longer he let their fight drag out.

_Writing down a list of things to do to make it up to him is not considered as trying. I always find that verbal admission is a good start. MH_

Sherlock scoffed. What did _he_ know?

The dark-haired man allowed his sight to leave John when the other went into the pub. The doctor was safe in the presence of Lestrade. No one would kidnap him under the detective inspector's nose.

No one _in their right mind_ would anyway.

_I do not know this list you speak of. If you're done giving meaningless advice, I'd appreciate it if you stop texting me and promptly delete my number or I will block you from my phone. SH_

And Mycroft will just hack his way through his phone again anyway, but Sherlock finds that blocking his brother's number always gave him temporary relief from the annoying prick.

_Said non-existing list is currently hidden in the head of John's old cane. One he does not touch anymore for fear of bringing back his limp. The last place he would look or accidentally find your note in. MH_

He knew Mycroft was just texting him both to annoy him and to make sure that his brother was still in the alley, and had not been endangered in any way. But still, it annoyed Sherlock and his annoyance did not tone down especially after the realization that Mycroft planted security cameras in their flat _again_ just after a few days he got rid of them.

The meddling sod.

Sherlock was about to bluntly text his brother where he could shove John's cane at, when he felt a cold, looming presence behind him.

The young Holmes turned abruptly, his stance tensing- but he realized it was too late the moment he felt a sharp, thin, and cold needle dug into his arm.

It was the Irene Adler's case all over again. He could feel the drug being injected into his system, his veins chilling and his senses going out of control as he fell into a familiar haze of overdose.

Sherlock could hardly feel the hard impact of his body onto the rough pavement and the warm blood trickling down his forehead. His sight was failing him and his hearing was buzzing as he turned his head left and right trying to regain himself.

His phone fell onto the floor, not enough to turn it off or destroy it, but enough for the screen to crack. Sherlock just had enough time to see the screen light up as he received another message he will never get to read.

_Sherlock, don't even think of ignoring this message. Or so help me I will find a way to give that list to the doctor. MH_

Sherlock's body trembled as he was carried by his assailant, his consciousness slipping, his muddled brain shutting down, and his eyes drifting closed. The phone vibrated again on the asphalt. Another message he wouldn't be able to read.

_One of my men is on his way to check on you. If you run from him, I will know. There are CCTV cameras everywhere. MH_

The text was a subtle threat, a bait to get his brother out into the open where he can see him. But still, no response from Sherlock.

_Sherlock? MH_

By the time another figure, one dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans, attempting to fit into the environment, entered the alley. It was already empty.

_Sherlock, are you there? MH_

A couple of men had just been seen by the CCTV cameras smuggling a suspiciously human-sized bag into a van. Once the van turned, the CCTV watchers realized with horror that it had no plate number. What do they tell the powerful man who ordered them to keep watch?

Sherlock's phone in the alley buzzed with lengthy urgency. A call from one worried Holmes brother. The man sent to check on Sherlock in the alleyway saw it and promptly but nervously answered it.

"Sir, there's no one here." He said onto the line. Mycroft did not bother to answer and abruptly hung up. The lookout man was used to this and just pocketed the phone, sighing tiredly.

He could tell it was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, back in the pub, two phones vibrated simultaneously with urgency. And as Lestrade and John both picked it up with slightly drunk excuses, they both paled at the same time when they read the short and clipped words displayed on their screens.

_Sherlock has been kidnapped. MH_

The sound of glass breaking broke into the ruckus of the night.


	2. And one time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what a conscience does to a man, when the person he was fighting with gets kidnapped? I nearly went out of my mind with worry and guilt! Then I go and rescue you and I _see you_ centimeters from a gun and all I could think was, _God no! I haven't-_ " The doctor choked, " _Haven't even bloody apologized yet._ "

When Sherlock woke up to the unfamiliar scent of cinnamon, the first thing he thought of was, at least this time, it wasn't John who was taken to God-knows-where because of his association with the consulting detective.

"Oh good, you're awake Mr. Holmes." A distorted voice, clearly someone using a voice changer so that they won't be recognized (most likely the cinnamon scent was also a diversion to make Sherlock think that the kidnapper was a woman) greeted him. Or maybe it _was_ a woman and they made the smell distinct so as to make Sherlock double-guess. Also, they were able to find Sherlock despite his earlier disguise to fit in the crowd and follow John.

It looks like the kidnappers this time are actually smart. How invigorating.

"What do you want from me?" Sherlock began to talk, blinking his eyes rapidly so as to adjust and to look around his surroundings. To his annoyance, he discovered that he was blindfolded as well as tied up, and he grunted at the expert knotting done onto his wrists. "Revenge? I haven't been following any cases lately so you can't be the suspects of _any current_ crime I have. Petty thievery, then? Or are you about to commit a crime and just want me out of the way?"

"The first and the last reason. Revenge and also we want you out of our way before we commit our next heist. We don't like the thought of having a nosy person like you being kept alive. Not after what you did to our colleagues, throwing them in jail after they kidnapped that doctor." The voice came nearer. Sherlock could hear dainty footsteps and the clicking of heels. A woman then? No, the footsteps were too heavy and uncoordinated. A fat woman? No, Sherlock could smell something unwomanly, aftershave. A hairy woman? Or a man wearing woman's heels to deceive him?

Interesting.

"Oh, are you the ones who set up John with that woman?" He knew it! There was another person behind the dealings and the ones Lestrade caught were nothing but minions! Aha! The drug dealing and thievery business went deeper than he thought!

"Very smart." The man- or woman?- said purring. "We were warned about you, Mr. Holmes. About how clever and how enthusiastic you were when it came to crimes. We were also told about your greatest weakness- that doctor who follows you around, all sweet and innocent and caring. We were also told about his dating habits… Had to test the waters and see how easy it was to kidnap him and make you bend to our will."

"Sentiment." Sherlock said the word with a well-practiced venomous tone. "You are assuming that my weakness lies in sentiment."

"Oh, we aren't _assuming_ , Mr. Holmes. Everyone _knows_ sentiment is your weakness. Everyone but _you_ it seems." There was laughter behind the fake tone and Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"And?" Sherlock snapped, "Why haven't you kidnapped John, then, if you believed he is my weakness?"

"We aren't idiots."

"Oh really? The words you have spoken to me, tell me otherwise." The consulting detective mocked.

"Say what you like, but we weren't going to kidnap the assistant surgeon of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, Captain John Watson, again." The kidnapper mocked as Sherlock froze. "It would be a foolish idea to kidnap someone who was trained to escape hostage and kidnapping situations, an excellent marksman, and expert in hand-to-hand combat."

Sherlock swallowed, his mouth felt dry as he said, "You did your research…" He didn't understand how they could've gotten such information. Mycroft had placed John's personal file and background under lock and key when he started living with Sherlock, to ensure his safety.

Who were these people?

"Of course we did!" And there was a loud 'BANG!' and Sherlock felt something _whoosh_ by, centimeters from his face. "We aren't idiots, Mr. Holmes. We wanted to get to you and we thought going through the doctor would work. But it didn't, and we realized why. And as a bonus, we also figured out that the _only way_ to get to you, was to get to you _directly_. To kill you personally. It saves us a lot of effort and time."

"And now I'm here." Sherlock said.

"And now you're here." Even though he can't see, Sherlock knew that the man or woman was nodding thoughtfully. "So what do we do?"

"I can tell you what you should do." The consulting detective closed his eyes, his lips twitched into a smirk meant to make the enemies nervous. Usually he'd also give them a piercing glare but his eyes were covered at the moment, so he could only do this much. He fought down his earlier shock and focused only on the _now_. "How about I give you a very _clever_ advice? If you let me go now without any harm, you might walk away from this situation unscathed."

There was silence.

"Are you _threatening us_?" Came the incredulous tone. Us, so more than one then. Sherlock could hear impatient tapping several feet from him, and there was also the scent of tobacco in the air, although very faint, as though someone outside was smoking. "You're tied up and blindfolded, you have no idea who we are or where we are, you're cell isn't with you-" He said 'cell', American then? "-and you _threaten us_? Are you _sane_?"

The smirk grew. "Slightly deranged but nothing to worry about." He talked. Was he buying himself time? Maybe, maybe not. "Although, it would be very smart of you to do what I say anyway. I won't take pity on you especially with what happens next."

The speaker snorted, "And what _would_ happen next? The doctor and your police friend are getting wasted at the pub. And you go missing for hours a day as though it's normal. Most likely that John fellow will go back to your flat, see you're not there, not care about it, and _when_ will he start looking for you? A week or two maybe. He'll think you're avoiding him because of your fight, so it'll take time before he becomes worried and calls your phone."

The guy had a point. But Sherlock had been texting his brother right before his disappearance. No doubt, the overdramatic worry of his elder brother would spur on his two _somewhat_ friends to go looking for him.

"And besides, you are the brains of your little clique. None of your friends are smart enough to find you. How could they be, when _we_ were smart enough to get you _here_ in the first place? And you have _no idea_ where you are now, do you?" The voice sneered at him.

Sherlock took a deep breath. Being blindfolded had enhanced his hearing and smelling. He opened his mouth, allowing the taste of the air to permeate as well. Cinnamon was everywhere, in the taste and in the scent. But still, Sherlock could smell the faint whiff of tobacco and something… something else. His ears could pick up the tapping sound and it seemed like something hitting against wood.

Was the other scent wood shavings?

"Oh, I wouldn't say that I didn't know where we were." Sherlock smirked again. Just as he said those words, the air became still, the tapping stopped and the clicking footsteps of someone's heels froze.

Suddenly the footsteps picked up, heading towards Sherlock. The consulting detective barely had any time to open his mouth when he suddenly felt himself getting hit by _something_. A riding crop.

"SHUT. UP." Came the growl. Hearing it so close, Sherlock was able to hear two voices: the original one and the fake one. "Don't play smart detective with me. You're blindfolded and I'm sure, even _you_ are smart enough to guess that the cinnamon scent is a diversion. We're not in some bakery in London."

"Oh, I never said we were in a bakery." Sherlock chuckled, spitting out the blood at the harsh blow on his cheek. "We're in a factory. _Obviously._ "

There was another frozen pause. The young Holmes could almost taste the fear in the air and he started to smile in triumph, when all of a sudden he was hit _again_ , harder than before on his face. Once, twice, more than three times, Sherlock's face was hit at different angles with the riding crop.

"YOU! ARE! WRONG!" The person yelled and the abused detective heard a soft 'oi!' from behind the man, warning him. Sherlock didn't bother to tell the man to stop. The fact that he was getting abused like this meant that the guy was distressed because Sherlock was right.

Sherlock loved being right.

He nearly drank a poison pill once just to prove he was clever enough to live.

To prove he could always be right.

"Oi, calm down man. Losing your cool won't help us." A small voice whispered, causing Sherlock to raise an eyebrow. Looks like there wasn't only one sharp mind in the group. "Look, let's just get on with this and finish him off. Then we can go back to work."

At the tone, the person threatening Sherlock calmed down, inhaling deeply. Sherlock's ears picked up sound of a gun being cocked in his direction. The consulting detective pursed his lips.

"You're right." The voice was much calmer, the voice changer hiding the original user's tone once more. "But first, I'd like to hear what sort of deductions this guy has been making while being tied up." At those words, the young Holmes' smiled. Human beings were curious to a fault. "I want to see if he really is _that_ great." He argued with the quiet voice behind him. "Go on then, impress us one last time. We're in no hurry."

Sherlock's lips formed a smile.

* * *

"That git! That absolutely annoying git!" John cursed under his breath while looking out of the window. His right foot had been tapping against the floor of the car for the last several minutes. After receiving the text, Lestrade and John had gotten out of the pub immediately and was greeted by the usual mysterious black car with a solemn-faced Anthea.

"Calm down John, getting angry won't help." Greg said to the doctor as he observed the streets they were passing. "Where are we going anyway? You have any idea where they're holding Sherlock captive?"

"Mr. Holmes is working on it." Anthea said with a serious face as though she dealt with stressed out doctors and calm detective inspectors everyday. "He said it would be better if you stopped by your flat for a moment while he traced the unlicensed car to its location. The kidnappers were experts at dodging the CCTV cameras."

"Why? Is there something in the flat that might help us find Sherlock?" John asked, blue eyes narrowed, and in that moment Lestrade caught a glimpse of the soldier the doctor took efforts to keep hidden.

"Maybe. He didn't say." Anthea said, calmly. "He just said to take your cane because you might need it."

"What?" John snapped, but then the car stopped, signifying their arrival at Baker Street. Not waiting for a response, the ex-military soldier got out and ran up the steps, eager to find any clues that would lead him to the idiot detective.

"Hey," Lestrade paused before getting out. "Can you- uh, pass a message to that Mr. Holmes of yours?"

"Depends if what you're about to say next is of relevance." Anthea answered easily and Lestrade scratched at his cheek self-consciously.

"Well, uhm, just tell him not to botch it up, yeah? Tell him to find Sherlock as fast as he can because…" Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. "John's a little drunk and a little pissed, and I don't fancy dealing with an angry doctor at the end of the day."

The young woman smiled at the words, "Irrelevant." The detective inspector sighed just as she added, "Mr. Holmes already knows this. He hates repetition. But for your sake I'll pass the message along."

"Er, yeah. Thanks." The inspector stepped out of the car and followed John up into their flat.

* * *

"I know we are currently in a wood factory, somewhere in the east- north east- at least a mile or two from the nearest road. There are three of you-" A soft exclamation several feet away, "No, make that four, keeping guard on me. All are men, yes," Sherlock smirked at the direction of the heels, "Even you. You are wearing heels to throw me off but your inexperience with them and the second voice I heard despite the voice changer tells me otherwise. I wish you would take off my blindfold, I bet you look ridiculous right now."

There was silence and the tobacco Sherlock had smelled earlier seemed to have been crushed underfoot, seeing as the scent waned.

"You-"

"I can tell you your height and weight too. Any distinguishing features enough to have you thrown in jail. The state of your clothes, any old habits-" Sherlock interrupted but then he was suddenly hit across the face, this time, instead of the riding crop, it was a fist.

Thankfully, the young consultant turned his face just enough so as to avoid breaking his nose. Having trouble to breathe would not be ideal at his current situation.

"We have to kill him! Kill him now! He's dangerous! He knows how many we are, where we are-!" A squeaky voice, the third kidnapper, said in a panicked tone.

"I vote for torture." A rough voice, most likely the guy smoking tobaccos outside, had come in. "He's too high in his own pedestal, someone needs to teach him a lesson, yeah? A daft bastard he is." Suddenly there was the sound of a gun being adjusted and-

BANG!

The chair fell to ground as the tobacco-smoking man shot one of its legs, causing it to topple back to the floor, taking Sherlock with it.

The young Holmes breathed in sharply at the impact. His bleeding face met with wood shavings, infecting the wounds further. He gritted his teeth as a foot stepped on his sides.

"We were told to finish him off." The fake voice interrupted calmly but the speaker made no move to stop the other man.

"And we are! Only we're doing it _my way_." The man said roguishly as he kicked Sherlock on the back, causing him to cough out.

"The more you hurt him, the more you're leaving clues _on him_. Clues to our identities."

"Well, we'll bury him somewhere so no one will look too closely on his body." The man snorted as he stepped on Sherlock's hands this time. "Ain't that right, _Sherly_?"

* * *

"John?" Lestrade called out to the doctor as he took the steps two at a time. It seemed like Mrs. Hudson was not in, judging by the note she left on her door. She was off with Mrs. Turner attending book club at one of their friends' houses. "Oi, where are you? Did you find anything?"

"Up here, Greg! I-" There was the sound of something being pulled off before silence.

Eyebrows furrowing, the detective inspector ran up to John's room, knowing from the last drug bust where it was.

He was met with the sight of John's back as the doctor seemed to be reading something under the lamplight.

"Bloody hell." John murmured.

"John?"

The doctor turned around, eyebrows furrowed, lips set in a frown as he waved the paper in the air, saying, "Couldn't bother being a normal person for once, yeah? That bastard ought to have said something or-!" And just as suddenly the outburst came, the soldier deflated and sat on his bed tiredly. "I keep forgetting I'm the normal one between the two of us. Stupid Shelock."

"Er, sorry. I can't keep up." Lestrade shifted his weight on his other foot. "Am I missing something?"

John half-heartedly waved the paper on Greg's face, tempting him to take it and read it himself.

_Ways to tell John I'm sorry:_

_1\. Pretend we never fought to avoid awkward conversations._

_2\. Don't ask him to make tea for me as though he is a houseboy._

_3\. Don't play the violin in the middle of the night so as not to irritate him._

_4\. Leave flat frequently when he is home so as not to annoy him with my presence._

_5\. Don't risk his life by inviting him to potentially dangerous cases._

_6\. Don't shoot the walls when bored._

_7\. Don't take his laptop without his permission._

_8\. Move the decapitated head in the freezer and replace them with animal intestines. Intestines are less surprising._

_9\. Buy milk myself._

_10\. Follow him around when he leaves to make sure he won't get kidnapped again._

_11\. Don't ask him_ not to leave _if he decided to move out. I owe him that much._

_SH_

Lestrade blinked in surprise before clearing his throat awkwardly, "Wow." The doctor deflated even more at the word. "So, he was in the alley near the pub when he got kidnapped because-"

"The idiot was following me to keep me safe." John said in a grunt, but the words sounded sadder. "Git."

The Yarder gave the doctor a smile as he folded the paper and stuffed it in his jacket. Another proof that Sherlock was a normal human being, "Well, I guess Sherlock isn't the only one who owes someone an apology, yeah?"

John sighed and gave him a reluctant smile. "Guess not."

Suddenly the two were alerted to someone else's presence when the familiar click of heels made them turn.

Anthea looked at the cane in John's hand in approval before saying, "They've found him."

The two were out of the door without any more prompting.

* * *

Sherlock guesses he should be doing _something_ , staving off the attack or else trying to escape. He knew that if John was in his position, the soldier would have thought of a dozen ways to be unbounded.

But he was Sherlock Holmes, whereas other people would shut their mouths in order to avoid further hurt, whereas other people would do their best to locate a possible escape despite the hopeless situation, Sherlock would do the opposite. He would crave the danger and the hurt, he would taunt the enemies and would care less if they kicked him harder as the truth spilled from his lips.

It was all part of the Work.

And he craved the Work with every part of his being.

"Gone awfully quiet, haven't you?" The assaulter finally stopped his boring repetitive action of kicking his sides. The consulting detective breathed in sharply, trying to hide the wince as he smile dup at where he thought the suspect was.

"I was merely waiting for you to finish. I'd be wasting my energy, talking to someone who is too busy doing something else." Sherlock said in a monotonous tone. "Because clearly, your brain is only capable of one action at a time."

A sharp, heavy kick to his stomach took Sherlock's breath away as he tried to fight the urge to curl into himself.

"It's not a good idea talking up to me like that," The voice rough with anger, "Talking all high and mighty, I'm the one stepping on your body now, I'm deciding your fate."

"Wrong." Sherlock coughed, "We decide our own fates. And I've decided I won't die."

"You're pretty confident," The man with the voice changer interrupted as Sherlock was dragged up into a kneeling position. The chair went with him, bending his arms in a painful way. "You still believe that your friends will come and get you? Are you really sure they're that smart? When _you_ aren't even smart enough to escape?"

Sherlock grunted, twisting the grip of his unknown assaulter, trying to stand despite the chair on his back "I'd like to think that my talents lie elsewhere. For example, I'm fairly talented in getting my enemies arrested with a handful of clues."

The young Holmes froze when the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded met his ears. He frowned at the direction of the man as the cold mouth of the weapon met with his forehead.

"But those clues will be useless if the brain that stores them explodes, now won't it?" The voice was smooth and confident. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheeks, trying to stave away panic, trying to _think_ because in this situation that was all he was good at.

"Hey-" The man who had been kicking Sherlock earlier, voiced his protest. "I'm not through with him yet-"

"Yes you are." The man with a voice changer snapped, "You've revealed your voice to him and undoubtedly your shoe size and far more clues to your identity from abusing him." Sherlock smirked, it was nice not being underestimated for once. "He's dangerous and we should get rid of him, _now_."

"Hm," The consulting detective hummed, "Good luck with that." And before anyone could decipher what he meant, Sherlock dropped skillfully to the ground, twisting body to the side so as to hit the gunner with the chair he was still bound too.

_BANG!_

The man accidentally fired a shot as the firm chair made contact with his legs. And with the annoying addition of the heels, it was inevitable that he would trip and fall forward without much effort, according to Sherlock's calculation.

Now he had 5.7 seconds before the assaulter reacted and 10.23 seconds before the two other perpetrators get ahold of him.

All in all, he had 15.30 seconds to save his life, bring them down, gather all the necessary information to solve this case, and get them arrested.

Oh, he _loved_ his Work.

But of course, as always, no plan was ever perfect. As Sherlock once said to his fateful blogger, there was _always something_.

The young Holmes was an expert in doing creative tactics that would surprise any enemies and thus, turn the advantage to him. He was also fairly good in boxing and other defensive maneuvers fairly needed in his line of work. But he had woefully underestimated the strength of the other men and also the burden of having a chair tied to your wrists.

He was able to put his first plant into action, twisting his legs to where he calculated the second attacker to be, stretching to kick below the belt. He heard the groan, mentally patted himself in the back because he hit the bull's eyes. But then as he surged forward to initiate the third attack to put the third man down and find the gun, he forgot about the first man who had tripped and tangled his legs on the chair Sherlock was tied to.

The consulting detective tried to move forward but a force kept him in place and in less than 6 seconds, he was caught. Hands grabbing at his arms tightly, and the fourth man tackled him back none-too-gently. His back pressed against the chair painfully and he let out an indignant yelp.

He could still hear the second man groaning somewhere and the first man was gasping for air as he untangled himself from the _stupid_ chair.

"I admit, that was a close one." The voice changer crackled, probably because of the fall its owner took. "But I'm afraid you've just sentenced yourself to death, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock gritted his teeth as someone grabbed his hair, forcing him to look up. The black cloth covering his sight was still intact and it irritated him that after all that, he was still caught, unable to get free, _and_ _sightless!_

He felt more than heard the gun cocked a few centimeters from his forehead. Sweat dribbled down his cheek as he resolutely gazed into the darkness with an impassive face.

"What's with that look?" The first man laughed with a wheeze. "Can't believe you've failed? Disappointed that you won't get to share your deductions with anyone?"

"No." Sherlock said and even though his body was aching and he was still being held down and against the painful angles of the chair, he felt calm.

"Oh, don't tell me!" The man laughed, "You're still hoping _your friends_ will come and _save_ you?"

"Believing in any chance of survival in a situation like this is pointless." The consulting detective said but then he added, pushing past the hurt and the possibility of speeding up his death, "But I have never been failed by my 'friends' before, unlike you."

The man growled but then he regained himself and Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed the mouth of the gun on his head, "Tell you what, let's wager. _I_ say you're going to die in the next few seconds and _no one's_ coming after you."

"And my wager would be?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"That you won't die in the next few seconds because some miracle's going to happen," Then a laugh, "Which _I doubt_ , by the way."

"Even if I had a choice," The consulting detective said, "I'll still wager that."

He knew the man was grinning predatorily at him as the gun eased form his temple. Even without it pressing against Sherlock's forehead, it would still penetrate his skull and kill him. Right now though, the detective preferred to have it touching his skin, because then it felt _real_. Now he had to wait in agony, wondering when the shot was going to be fired.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." The voice was still predatory and Sherlock closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He heard the safety _click_ , and then-

"SHERLOCK!"

BANG!

* * *

John had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that one moment he was bursting in some wood factory and the next second he was _firing a shot_ that could possible save his best friend.

Sherlock Holmes fell to the ground like a sack after the sound of gunshot permeated the air, and just like that the doctor's mind went _blank_.

He was aware of the four men in the vicinity. One man had been holding a gun to Sherlock's head, two others holding the detective down, and the last one was curled up in a sort of way that made you _know_ he was kicked in the balls by one Sherlock Holmes.

The fact that he wanted to laugh when he saw that seemed so long ago now.

John Watson wasn't really aware of what he was doing. After firing the first shot and watching Sherlock go down, his body went into autopilot mode and he fired a second shot, a third, a fourth. The three men went down like ragdolls and he knew they cried out or something, but apparently aside from the strange buzzing noise in his ears, his body was unable to process other sounds.

He ran across the distance, his mind automatically cataloguing other information, his eyes darting left and right, trying to see if there were other people hiding away. He jumped over the curled up man he saw before and stopped in front of the men that went down.

His blood froze when he saw the blood but he exhaled shakily when he saw that the blood came from the shots he gave to the suspects.

It wasn't Sherlock's blood.

He _hoped_ it wasn't Sherlock's blood.

He was only vaguely aware that he hadn't killed those _damn kidnappers_ , before he kneeled forward, blue eyes wide as he stared at the unmoving form of the only consulting detective in the world.

"Sherlock?" John called out tentatively. His hearing was coming back and his voice sounded so silent that it scared him. He reached out and grabbed the other by the arm.

The sharp breath and the wince from the detective was like a slap of relief. He would have been laughing right now if not for the fact that when he turned Sherlock's towards him, the other's face was covered in bruises. He noticed the blindfold immediately, standing out against the pale skin, and removed it swiftly.

"John." The voice was rough and the smirk, despite the pain, that graced the sharp features was a relief as blue gray eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "I won the bet."

" _Jesus Christ!_ " The doctor said, as he crawled closer to help Sherlock sit up and to release him form is binds, "What the _bloody hell_ happened?"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed as he rubbed his wrists opened his mouth to speak, "I-"

"JOHN! BEHIND YOU!" Lestrade's voice registered several feet away, and Sherlock's eyes widened as a shadow came from behind his blogger.

It was the man who had been kicked in the balls. He had been bidding his time after all.

Thankfully, being an ex-military soldier had its perks, and with a sharp turn and a well-aimed hit, the man was down. John loomed over the figure, blue eyes narrowed as he leaned down and spotted specks of blood on the man's boots. He looked over at Sherlock who was wincing while placing an arm around his sides. The doctor could see suspicious shoeprints on his coat.

"Sherlock, did he hit you?" John said in a calm voice that made the detective turn to him with eyebrows raised.

"A few kicks," Sherlock replied trying to sound indifferent, but then he winced. "Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to- _blimey_ , Sherlock! He could've broken your ribs! That could've punctured your lungs! You could have _died_!" At the last word John shot the suspects an angry glare, his sight lingered on the one who had been holding a gun to his friend's forehead moments before. "What were you _thinking_?"

"That I'd get as much information on them as I can." The consulting detective answered automatically.

"Wha- You baited them?" The doctor gasped before his face contorted with anger, only this time it was directed at his best friend. "You baited them! You were practically _asking_ to be hurt weren't you?" John said as the guilt boiled slowly into fury at the thought of being a _second later_ than intended.

"I wasn't-"

"John! Sherlock! Are you okay?" Lestrade finally came up to them, panting. He was left behind when John had suddenly gotten out of the car the moment they stopped and ran full sprint to the factory. Sherlock nodded but winced while John muttered darkly under his breath. He sighed in relief and turned to the unconscious men and blinked, "What the- is that man _wearing heels_?"

At those words, Sherlock smirked, "A useless attempt at trying to throw me off."

Lestrade sighed, "I don't even want to ask. This is taking years off my life." His dark eyes turned towards the entrance where several men in formal suits began to enter. The detective inspector began to fidget, "Mycroft said he'd handle this- and I'm thankful and all. But a minor case of kidnapping being handled by the British Government? I don't exactly pity these guys but-" A few men inclined their heads towards the group before starting to drag the unconscious suspects away, "I shudder to think what they have in store for them."

"Oh, don't worry about that, detective inspector." A voice suddenly came from behind them. Lestrade and John turned abruptly while Sherlock sighed in annoyance, not bothering to turn because of his injuries and because he already knew who it was.

Mycroft smiled at them, umbrella in hand as always, as he gazed at them with narrowed eyes. "We will take it from here, although…" He tilted his head slightly, "They won't get off too easily, a simple life imprisonment seems _too mild_."

"Oh let it go, Mycroft." Sherlock huffed but then paused at the pain the simple action caused, "They did not endanger the British Government, no need to extend your power over something _so trivial_."

"You are not a trivial matter." Mycroft said softly. Lestrade and John exchanged looks as Sherlock scoffed, but his narrowed eyes seemed to have softened.

A clicking of familiar heels interrupted them. Anthea, ever immersed in her mobile, made herself known with a short, "The car is ready, sir."

"Good." The elder Holmes cleared his throat, "Sherlock, I know how you despise the tube, police cars, and government cars, so I took the liberty of arranging transport for you. My driver will assist in taking you to the A & E."

"Oh for God's sake, I am fine." The younger Holmes hissed as he tried to stand up. But a burst of pain flared on his injuries and he froze barely pursing his lips together to keep from wincing.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and Lestrade had a sense that the other man was already planning horrible things to the people who did this to his youngest brother. John had stood up immediately, arms extended, ready to assist although his face was unreadable to the detective inspector's ire.

"Your body has limitations, Sherlock. As a doctor I can see that you need medical attention. You should be thankful for your brother's consideration. He would've called an ambulance but he knows you hate those too." John said in a cool tone. The consulting detective was about to argue, but he seemed to have seen something on his doctor's face that made him close his mouth and glare at the ground.

"Good," Mycroft nodded in approval. "Now that that's settled, you three should be off. Sherlock, this case is officially off your hands and I advise you not to pursue it any further."

For once, Sherlock did not argue and merely looked away, "I had solved it anyway. It's barely a six and I do not take cases unless they're a seven.

"Good. I will see you again soon, goodbye and take care." The elder Holmes said curtly before he turned towards the men who had dragged the suspects off.

Sherlock straightened and swayed where he stood as Lestrade gently grabbed him by his left arm while John balanced him on his right.

"Right well," The Inspector said to the tense silence between the two. "To the car then, seeing as you two have things to talk about."

Glancing at the quiet doctor by his side, Sherlock nodded and allowed himself to be dragged towards the offending vehicle.

* * *

Silence permeated the air as Lestrade fidgeted on his seat. He sat in the middle of John and Sherlock. Maybe he should've taken a cab after all, seeing as how thick the tension in the car was. Running a hand down his face, he realized it was once again up to him to somehow get these two stubborn gits to talk.

"So, Sherlock… Mind telling us how'd you get to be _that_ injured?" Lestrade said to the dazed detective. Clearly, the young Holmes' mind was elsewhere or maybe he was getting a concussion? But John wasn't panicking, so maybe it wasn't that bad. Although the doctor did keep looking at Sherlock whenever he shifted and winced.

"They simply did not like the fact that I could deduce them so easily," Sherlock answered automatically.

"Like most normal people." John muttered and sharp blue gray eyes turned to him immediately at the words.

"You're angry." Sherlock said, eyebrows furrowed and Lestrade thought, _this is good, they're talking, this is good_. "At me. But you're trying not to be, why?"

The detective inspector wanted to slam his head on the nearest windows. It was a well-known fact that Sherlock was thick when it came to other people's emotions with regards to his attitude. Oh sure, he could deduce the reason why a husband killed his wife but he was always so _thick_ when it came to the fact that _other people, normal people, did not like they're whole lives being dissected in front of them._

Lestrade knew this, but he couldn't help but wish that Sherlock would just _not be so Sherlock-y._

"Yeah, good deduction that." John snorted but there was heat in his tone. The doctor took a deep breath and you could just see the effort he put in being patient. Lestrade felt pity, it can't be easy being flatmates with Sherlock Holmes. "It's just- I don't want to have a row Sherlock. You've just been kidnapped and injured-" John flinched, "You need rest and you shouldn't be stressed-"

"I'm fine." Sherlock said dismissively, "Absolutely fine. Not in shock, injured yes but my emotional capacity is at its best. I'd prefer to get _this-_ " He motioned between them, "whatever _this is_ , over with now."

John blinked but then shook his head in exasperation, "We have a spat and you call it 'this'," He made the same hand gestures Sherlock did. Lestrade had to lean back to avoid getting hit. "Like it's another, _meaningless_ \- Well, you know what? Fine! Sod your feelings! Sod bedside manners! Sod _this_! I'll tell you straight out how annoyed I am at your right now!"

The detective inspector winced, this was not how he imagined this to go, "Boys-"

"You, Sherlock Holmes, are the most inconsiderate fellow I have ever met." John began in a clipped tone, his face was controlled, his blue eyes dark. "We have a fight, you ignore me and pretend we're not having said fight! You go off on your own whenever I come home, and you don't even bother apologizing even though, _if I may remind you_ , it was _your_ bloody fault why I got kidnapped in the first place!"

Surprisingly, Sherlock said nothing as he gazed at the doctor with an unreadable expression. Lestrade tried to intervene again, but the look on John's face made him shut his trap.

"And then, _as though that's not enough_ , you go and get yourself kidnapped!" Blue eyes were light with wild concern now and guilt, "And do you know what a conscience does to a man when the person he was fighting with gets kidnapped? I nearly went out of my mind with worry and guilt! Then I go and rescue you and I _see you_ centimeters from a gun and all I could think was, _God no! I haven't-_ " The doctor choked, " _Haven't even bloody apologized yet._ " The ex-soldier let out a shaky breath.

"And it made me realize how _silly_ it was all in the first place. Even though it was all _your_ sodding fault, I-" John began to mumble, "I don't even mind apologizing, Sherlock. I'm sorry you- you idiotic git. So don't do that again."

The good doctor hung his head once he had said his part and Lestrade had the decency to pat him on his shoulder in comfort. He shot Sherlock a look when the detective continued to look at John quietly.

"Earlier, you asked me if I baited them, John." Sherlock said in a soft tone. Lestrade looked at him uncertainly while John acknowledged his words by looking up slightly, "I admit, I may have done exactly just that. I never consider another person's feelings when I am trying to prove myself right, as you might know." A hesitant smile appeared on the consulting detective's face. "But I did not mind being beaten, I had full confidence that I would come out of there alive."

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock took a deep breathe, "I made a bet with the person you saw holding the gun. I made a bet with him, in exchange for my life."

"Bloody-" Lestrade said, his expression turning into anger as John inhaled sharply. How could Sherlock be so careless? Didn't he know that there are people who cared if he was _gone_? The detective inspector rubbed at his forehead, trying to contain his emotions. "Well, go on then, this better be a good bet or I'll sock you."

The young Holmes continued to smile. "Oh it's a good one, I assure you. I had one hundred percent confidence that I would win."

"And? What was the bet?"

Narrowed blue gray eyes locked on with blue ones and in a soft tone no one would have heard unless they were close, Sherlock whispered, "I bet that you would come and save me before he pulled the trigger."

Silence.

"Y-You-" John began to say as Lestrade stared at Sherlock with mouth agape. The doctor ducked his head, burying his face in his hands, "You _git_ , you absolutely _brilliant_ , _idiotic_ git."

"Saying brilliant and idiotic in the same sentence defeats the purpose of a compliment." Sherlock said coolly but he was smiling slightly.

"It's not a compliment!" John snapped and the smile fell from Sherlock's face as the ex-soldier grabbed him by the front of his shirt. His blue eyes were fierce with shock and also with frustration, "What would you have _done_ if- God forbid- I was a second longer? If I hadn't gotten out of the car fast enough? Or if I had tripped? Would you have stuck to that bet? Would you have let yourself die?"

"It was my atonement." Sherlock said, uncomfortable by the grip but resolved. "You have been in that situation at least four times, having myself kidnapped one time is nothing-"

"Nothing to _you_." John said, gritting his teeth, "But think about how _we_ would feel! Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft!" And then he added in a desperate tone, " _Me_."

Silence.

"I believe in you." Sherlock said in factual manner that made the grip on his shirt loosen. His eyes flashed, "And I am alive now. I don't regret being kidnapped, as long as it wasn't you _again_."

At those words, John's grip on him fell away and the doctor slumped back to his seat, defeated. Lestrade continued to watch in shock. This was one of those rare Sherlock moments when the great mind is overtaken by an even greater heart.

"I can't win with you." John said, covering his face but there was a reluctant smile on his face now. Sherlock relaxed back into his seat and looked out of his window.

"No you can't." The consulting detective said quietly and comfortable silence filled the atmosphere.

Eventually, Lestrade recovered from his shock and for good measure he nudged Sherlock on the ribs, eliciting a small wince. When blue gray eyes glared at him, the detective inspector pointed at John with an inclination of his head.

Sherlock pursed his lips and sighed, "And John?"

"Yeah?" Came the muffled reply.

"I _am_ sorry. Very sorry." Sherlock said in a heartfelt tone that didn't last as long as Greg would've wanted.

A grin made its way to John's face as he removed his hands and looked at his nervous flatmate. "Yeah, I know." And when Sherlock shot the other a confused look, Greg took out the paper John found hidden on the head of his cane.

" _Ways to tell John I'm sorry,_ " Greg began to read to the amusement of John and to the horror of Sherlock, " _Number one-_ "

"Mycroft." Sherlock growled and John laughed with Lestrade joining in.

 _This was how it was supposed to be._ Lestrade thought as he saw John laughing and Sherlock frowning although the soft twinkle in his eyes tells you otherwise. The detective inspector shot the man a smile while said Holmes rolled his eyes.

All is right with the world again.

****

**_Fin._**

 ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took awhile, had to get my grades and moped a day before that. Also, my sisters had the uncanny ability to take my laptop form me just when I wanted to updated. Anyway, here's to a new chapter. Cheers!
> 
> Might make a small extra after this (the reason why John wears jumpers), but who knows?

**Author's Note:**

> *First time writing Sherlock, not an expert in Brit slang, sorry if it's weird and all
> 
> *Edited the whole 'what might we deduce about his heart' convo there
> 
> *I hope nothing is too OOC for you guys.
> 
> Additional information, thanks to **NumberThirteen** : Brits have the NHS where care is free at the point of service. The NHS is funded via public taxation so everyone can have treatment. Medical prescriptions for children, pensioners, the long term sick/disabled and unemployed (as well as prescriptions for hospital patients) are free, everyone else pays £7.25 per item - e.g. a 2-week course of antibiotics.
> 
> And to **Levynite's** info as well: CIA is an American intelligence agency that only operates outside of the USA. NSA, FBI and so on operate on US soil and has jurisdiction there only except for extradition cases and so on.  
>  MI5 is the British intelligence agency that operates on domestic soil and protects against negative outside forces.  
> MI6 (its version of CIA), the United Kingdom spent quite a few years denying its overseas intelligence service ever existed (no matter what the James Bond movies have to say) but it does in fact exist in the form of the SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service, which the UK later admitted is what the public thought of as the mythical MI6. And they admitted it because when you Google SIS, the website heading reads 'Home Page--SIS (MI6)'.
> 
> I write for other fandoms too! Come by my [tumblr](http://emrysblu.tumblr.com)!


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